Taming Talia

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  “He say not social.” The housekeeper’s dark eyes sparkled with excitement. “Very nice-looking man. Dressed in black.”

  Natalia wrinkled her nose. “The padre? I had enough of him at the service. Tell him I’m indisposed.”

  A quick shake of the housekeeper’s head set her starched white cap to bobbing. “Most definitely not a preacher man.”

  “You said ‘nice looking’?”

  “Muy handsome. Sí.”

  Good old Reginald had forbidden any of the house servants from using their native language, but that was only one of the many changes she planned. She smiled. After all, it was her native language too. “I’ll see him. Show him to the front parlor.” She nodded at the housekeeper. “And since he’s muy handsome, serve us some coffee.” Maybe Natalia would do more than see him.

  She waited until Sarita left the room, then walked over to an ornate gold-framed looking glass and surveyed her appearance with an arched brow. Excellent. More than good enough for the man in black.

  Composing her emotions, she walked down the central hall to the front parlor, where a fire had already been laid to ward off the chill of the late October evening. She found a tall, lean man, dressed in black as the housekeeper had said, standing in front of the fireplace, his back to her. “You wish to see me? Señor—”

  He turned and smiled, his dark mustache quirking to one side. His square jaw was clean-shaven, and he smelled of spicy Bay Rum, denoting a very recent visit to the barber. His dark brows shot up, his pale gray eyes glittering with obvious interest. “Fields, Jared Fields, at your service.” His voice was low and possessed a cultured tone.

  Madre de Dios. Sarita was right. Muy handsome indeed. Tall, lean, clean and saddle-hardened—just what a frustrated widow needed. What could he want?

  “Señor Fields, how may I help you?” His accent and manner weren’t those of a Californio or a common cowboy. Maybe he was someone who’d known her husband before he came west. If so, she didn’t trust his coming here. Not now. She had too much to lose.

  “I met one of your hands today. Said you needed someone for a cattle drive.”

  Disappointment stabbed through her. A vaquero after all. “Then see my foreman.” The sharp retort escaped before she could call it back. Ready to sweep from the room, she picked up her skirts but was stopped short by the sound of his voice.

  “Hear me out. Your hand, a Mr. Foulkes, also mentioned you were running the ranch alone.”

  She halted, glancing over her shoulder at the tall stranger. “I already have a foreman.” Dios, but he was a choice specimen of manhood. He held a black Stetson in his hands, and a half grin occupied his lean, tanned face. What did he have to be amused about?

  “Madam, if you would allow me to say my piece…” His dark, raven’s wing brows elevated as he awaited her answer.

  She let out a small sigh and faced her visitor. “Go ahead, then.” She took a deep breath, knowing the act would cause her breasts to jut and capture his attention. If only he would stop talking.

  His gaze flickered from her face. “It wasn’t my intention to hire on as one of your hands. It comes to me that you might need my advice—financial advice, that is. I’m from St. Louis and built up a successful firm which does just that. Did, I should clarify. I sold my half of the business to my partner and came westward. On my arrival in this fair—uh, city, it came to my attention that as a new widow of substantial holdings, you might have need of such advice.”

  “I see.” In spite of his elegant manners, Mr. Fields was more interested in her money and land than her body. What was it with men and money? She drew up, gathering her most imperious and fiery manner. “Mr. Fields, do I appear as if I was born last night? It comes to my mind that perhaps you are a confidence man who, rather than advise me, would take advantage of what you suppose is my ignorance.”

  Her handsome visitor’s eyes widened, and his back straightened. “To the contrary, it’s obvious to me, and should be to anyone, that you are an exceptional woman of perspicacity, and as such I would advise you to telegraph my former business partner in St. Louis to check my references. Perhaps doing so would convince you of my good faith.” He nodded, but still a smirk played about his mouth.

  “And perhaps I don’t require your services at all.” At least not those. “I’m quite capable of managing my late husband’s holdings.”

  “Madam, your late husband’s holdings lie far beyond this ranch.”

  “Is that so?” Raising her chin a notch, she took a step toward him, each of her hands clenching a fistful of silk skirts. “And how do you come by your knowledge?” Who was he really? Most assuredly an opportunist, at the very least. Possibly he was someone sent by Reginald’s family.

  Not that either scenario precluded her using him for her own amusement.

  “The town weekly, the La Mesa Messenger, I believe it’s called, devoted several columns to his”—her visitor paused and cleared his throat—“death and history.”

  Natalia’s cheeks burned. “Yes, the weekly rag was quite generous with its coverage.” As if everyone within ten miles wasn’t already aware of the humiliating details. Gossip spread faster in La Mesa than wildfire on the prairie. And yet standing so near to such a virile and handsome man had her heart fluttering. Heat suffused her cheeks. Could he tell she was so moved by his presence?

  Eager to change the subject, she walked to the settee and sat. “Where are my manners? Please be seated, Mr. Fields.” She gestured to a straight-backed oak chair.

  Her visitor nodded and sat across from her.

  Sarita arrived with a tray and set it on the sideboard, then withdrew. Ah, her housekeeper and friend had impeccable timing. Natalia rose and walked to the sideboard, then glanced over her shoulder at her visitor. “How do you take your coffee? Or would you prefer tea?”

  “Black. Coffee is fine, Mrs. Montrose.”

  “I thought as much. Most men seem to prefer it that way,” she offered with a smile. After adding sugar to her coffee, she picked up both cups of the steaming, fragrant brew and handed one to her visitor. She sat and sipped. The sugar cut the bite of the strong coffee Sarita made a habit of brewing.

  Natalia cradled the cup in her hands, relishing the warmth. “Why are you really here, Mr. Fields? La Mesa is a small town. Surely you could find more lucrative business opportunities farther west in, say…San Francisco. Or maybe you’re chasing gold or silver? Is that it—did you journey west for adventure or to seek your fortune?”

  “It’s true I’m of a mind to see San Francisco, but I also wanted to see this wide and wonderful country of ours.”

  “Yes, a good bit of it used to belong to my people…and not so very long ago.”

  He nodded in her direction, a smile playing across his lips. “You’ve done very well…”

  “Done very well?” Her breath caught in her throat. This tall, elegant man sitting before her had no idea what Reginald had put her through. Who was he to judge?

  “You have a comfortable situation here. Land, cattle, and no doubt a good deal of money to invest.”

  “Ah, back again to my money.” She tamped down her irritation and averted her gaze shyly. “And here I hoped your interest might be more…personal.”

  His brows shot up, but his gray gaze grew warm, and one corner of his mouth twisted upward in a grin. “Alas, I would never presume, as I am only too cognizant of your recent loss.”

  Presume indeed? His very tone mocked her, even as his words were faultlessly respectful.

  “Where are you from, Mr. Fields?”

  “St. Louis, as I said earlier.”

  “No, I don’t hear the Midwestern twang. Your manner of speaking sounds more like that of one from the northeast.”

  He sipped from his cup, then nodded. “You’ve caught me out. I was born and reared in New York City, but I left home as a young man. Tried my hand at various enterprises before I settled and found success in St. Louis.”

  “As a young man. Surely not
so long ago?”

  “I was twenty when I left New York. That was three and ten years ago, Mrs. Montrose.”

  Thirty-three years to her thirty. True, marriage to Reginald had saved her from the stigma of being an unmarried woman and a burden to her family. Not that she cared, but the lure of Reginald’s gold had proved too much for her father to resist. Perhaps it was his plan all along that she would outlive Reginald and the land would return to their family, along with all of her late husband’s wealth.

  Small price to pay if his only daughter were trapped in a loveless marriage.

  Small price indeed. Two could play that game.

  Snapping from her reverie, she smiled. “So you are an adventurer?” Fixing her gaze on his expressive mouth and thick mustache, she continued, “Or perhaps you were disinherited?”

  He blinked, as if startled, then laughed, a hearty rumble that warmed her. “I assure you, I wasn’t disowned for any sins of youth, if that’s what you’re thinking, Mrs. Montrose. I discovered quite young I craved adventure beyond the confines of my family’s banking business.”

  “And yet in St. Louis, you ended up advising others on financial matters. Not so far from the confines of your youth, was it?” Her forefinger circled the rim of her coffee cup as she watched his sensual mouth. Was his mustache stiff and bristly or soft? Would it tickle? Her breathing grew rapid, her cheeks warming as she imagined him crushing her lips with his. Desire gathered in her lower belly and heat pooled between her legs.

  “No, indeed. When the financial world of St. Louis began to pall, my thirst for new horizons reasserted itself.”

  Her gaze flitted from his mouth to his warm gray gaze. She worried her bottom lip before responding with a teasing smile. “But yet once again, you are here offering to advise me in such matters.”

  This time he chuckled. Such a good-humored man, whether he was an opportunist or no. “Seems like I cannot get away from what I am,” he said, gazing over his coffee cup in the most speculative manner.

  “Indeed.” Natalia sipped from her cup, then set it down. “Would you care to stay for dinner? It will be but a simple repast, but I hope you’ll find it satisfactory.”

  “You’re too gracious. I accept.” A single brow arched. “And after dinner?”

  “I would be inclined to hear what you propose…in regards to my finances.” The last she added quickly, lest he intuit her purpose.

  His steely gaze raked from her face to her breasts and then back to her face. “I would be delighted to clarify my proposition…to our mutual benefit, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Suddenly the mesquite wood fire popped, causing Natalia to gasp with surprise. Her visitor smiled, his gaze warm. “Mesquite burns hot.”

  “Sí, mesquite is a hard wood,” she said with a flutter of her lashes. “Indeed, it burns long and hot.”

  Her visitor shot her a questioning glance and cleared his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed once with his quick swallow. “And fragrant. During part of my journey westward, I traveled with a wagon train. Any meat cooked over the mesquite was left with a rich and unaccustomed smoky flavor. I enjoyed it greatly. I assure you there’s nothing like it in New York or St. Louis.”

  “I’m sure you will find there are many flavors here in New Mexico to which you are probably unaccustomed.”

  “Indeed, I look forward to discovering many of them while I’m here.”

  His pale gaze bore into her, as if reading her every intention. Her breath caught, and her mouth grew dry. She tried to swallow.

  The housekeeper cleared her throat. “Dinner is ready, señora.”

  More than grateful for the interruption, Natalia started, quickly recovered, then rose from the settee. Sarita’s arrival was again timely. However she managed the feat, Natalia often suspected the woman of listening at the door. Not that it mattered.

  “If you’ll follow me…” She nodded toward the central hall.

  He proffered his arm. “If you’ll allow me.”

  She smiled up at him and placed her hand lightly on his muscled forearm. “You’re very kind, Mr. Fields.”

  As much as her late husband insisted on running an Eastern-style household, they seldom stood on ceremony unless he had company, especially if it was someone he wanted to impress. In other words, he didn’t waste his citified manners on his wife. Yet, with no one around to observe, Mr. Field’s polite offering of his arm greatly pleased her. However, his elegant manners were likely a front for more sinister intentions. He hadn’t exactly tried to hide his sharp interest in her finances, had he? Perhaps by keeping him at arm’s length, she could divine his true purpose.

  Pretty words and fine manners were cheap enough.

  Chapter Three

  With the Widow Montrose’s hand resting lightly on his arm, Jared clenched his jaw. Never had the mere touch of a woman’s hand on his forearm caused such a rush of lust. Imagine what feelings her touching his cock would engender. Doubtless he’d been on the trail too long and without the comfort of a woman.

  Instead, he concentrated on his surroundings. The dining room table was generously lit by beeswax candles, not a smoky kerosene lamp. Another fireplace occupied the far corner of the spacious room. Montrose must’ve had the carved mahogany table and chairs brought from back East. Indeed, they were quite similar to the ones where Jared had grown up in his father’s home. An unaccustomed wave of homesickness swept over him, shaking him.

  He recalled the last argument with his father. Couldn’t blame the old man for kicking him out. He’d deserved it.

  The widow’s soft voice brought him back to the present. “Mr. Fields, I hope you like beef stew. I warned you it would be a simple meal. Since my husband’s untimely passing, I frequently eat in the kitchen with my housekeeper. It’s comfortable and not so lonely.”

  “Beef stew is an admirable dish, especially in the fall. But you eat in the kitchen with your servants?”

  “There’s only my housekeeper. She’s known me since I was a child and knows what I like. My late husband hired what he called a real cook from New York City.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a slight smile. “However, you’re a little late for her fancy fare. I’m afraid she left on the stage before the funeral.”

  “Before the funeral?”

  “Yes, we didn’t get on.” Lips pursed, her beautiful oval face pulled into a frown. “I can only guess the reasons, but they might have something to do with the color of my skin. Or possibly the moon eyes she made at my husband.”

  Had Montrose been unfaithful with his cook too? Right under his wife’s nose? What man in his right mind would cheat with a wife like this at his side? What a beauty Natalia Montrose was, with the blackest of hair and darkest of eyes. Eyes that sparkled with humor and intelligence. Eyes that challenged him to take her. And burnished skin that begged for his touch.

  Or did he have it wrong? Was her desire all in his mind?

  To his way of thinking, she certainly had a reason or two to want Montrose out of the way.

  Hold on. He wasn’t here to absolve or justify the murder of his client’s son. His assignment was to find the truth.

  After he seated her at the head of the table, she gestured to her right, where there was a second place setting of simple stoneware. “I don’t believe in a great deal of formality, Mr. Fields. I had quite enough of it the eight years I was married.” She unfolded a linen napkin and placed it in her lap.

  The housekeeper brought in a large tureen, then ladled a generous portion into his bowl and a smaller portion into her mistress’s bowl. The rich, beefy fragrance wafted upward to his nostrils, causing his stomach to growl. “Smells wonderful.”

  “I caution you, it might be spicier than what you’re used to. Sarita has quite a way with herbs and seasonings.”

  The housekeeper returned with a platter of flatbread and a covered stoneware bowl of butter, then set them on the table.

  Natalia nodded her approval. “Would you like more coffee
, Mr. Fields, or perhaps some red wine? My late husband kept a wine cellar with a variety of vintages. A Spanish Rioja would go well with the stew.”

  As much as he would have loved a rich red to go along with the hearty stew, he couldn’t risk losing focus. Not with the heady beauty on his left. He shook his head. “Coffee will be fine.”

  His hostess took her first bite of the stew and savored it by letting out a small, “Mm.” She smiled. “Don’t be afraid of the spiciness. A bit of heat only adds to the enjoyment.” She broke a piece of flatbread in half and slathered it with butter from the crock. She ate it, then slowly licked the butter from her lips.

  Good God. Her words were simple enough, but the throaty undertone in her voice led him to think of more than food. As for the manner with which she took pleasure in her food, that only made him think of other earthier pleasures.

  Mouth dry, he swallowed hard, then speared a piece of beef. After swallowing, he said, “You’re right about the spice. It’s delicious. I’ve never tasted anything like it.” He quickly followed with a buttered bite of the flatbread. Cornbread, but not sweet like the johnnycake of his childhood.

  The sweetness and sensual texture of the creamy butter made a perfect complement to the peppery stew. Too many meals of dried jerky had deadened his appetite, which was now fully awake. As were all his appetites. He held back on the desire to shovel in the stew like a cowhand on the trail, for the situation called for his best manners.

  The light from the candles sparkled in the widow’s eyes. She watched him carefully between ladylike bites, quickly dropping her gaze when he held hers too long. The lady seemed to be playing an odd game of flirtation mixed with a measure of deviousness.

  “Now tell me, Mr. Fields, how would you manage my holdings?” Again, an underlying note of challenge in her tone.

  Stalling for time, he sipped his coffee. “First, I would go over all of your late husband’s financial records and holdings to assure everything was in order.”

  “And if something were out of order? How would you know?” She smiled, reaching for her coffee. She sipped daintily, then licked her full upper lip ever so slightly.